The Fairy Funeral
by Morgause1
Summary: Sarah wakes up in the middle of the night to see a mournful procession passing through her garden.


"'Did you ever see a fairy's funeral, madam?' said Blake to a lady who happened to sit next to him. 'Never, Sir!' said the lady. 'I have,' said Blake, 'but not before last night.' And he went on to tell how, in his garden, he had seen 'a procession of creatures of the size and colour of green and grey grasshoppers, bearing a body laid out on a rose-leaf, which they buried with songs, and then disappeared'." – Allan Cunningham, "Lives of Eminent British Painters".

 **The Fairy Funeral**

Sarah woke in the middle of the night, not knowing why. She lay in bed, trying to get back to her dream – what was it about? Dimly she could recall vast, flying shapes that beat their wings around her, both terrifying and soothing. Unable to go back to sleep, she got up and went to the window.

The full moon shone upon the ground, and when its light reflected from Sarah's upturned face, she looked young again. Not that she was old, of course, but the forty five years she walked the earth had wrinkled her face and spun strands of silver in her dark hair. They didn't manage to extinguish the wild sparkle in her big, green eyes, though, and now, in that magical light, she looked again like the fifteen-year-old girl who wished away her brother to the fairies and then went out to save him.

And yes, there was indeed something very strange about the moon that night – it was too bright, too silvery, and gave the garden that surrounded Sarah's rural home an otherworldly look, deepening the shades while painting everything in stark light. It seemed to Sarah that something was moving on the ground below her, and then she heard the music.

It was sad, strange, unlike anything she had ever heard before. No, wait, she has heard it once, on the brink of sleep, pulling her in and covering her in a thick envelope of white feathers. As if bewitched, she found herself walking out of the house, drawn by the eerie music that was not quite singing and was not quite violins and was both. She stood in the garden in her nightgown, not feeling the cold, and then she saw them.

A long procession of dark creatures large and small passed through the garden, treading solemnly on soft earth but leaving no footmarks. _Goblins!_ she thought in alarm, but they didn't seem to notice her. All their attention was focused on the object they were carrying, and when Sarah saw what it was, her heart almost stopped.

It was a cot woven of colorful, cheerful flower petals, so unlikely in this January night. Upon it lay a beautiful figure that shone with its own light, its arms crossed over its chest and eyes closed. Inexplicably saddened, Sarah saw that it was him – the Goblin King – her adversary of old. He was so peaceful now that he looked almost asleep, were it not for the cold, cold light that emanated from him, colder than the bitter stars above and the icy wind that didn't seem to touch him.

Her heart moved in sorrow and longing, Sarah followed the procession, reaching at last a ring of standing stones that glittered in the moonlight. Strange, she thought, as if still in a dream. She lived in this house for years now and often went on hikes, and not once did she see these stones.

The goblins, and Sarah among them, entered the ring and stood around in a wide circle, with the body of the dead King in the center. The music was louder now and seemed to be coming from everywhere, and still Sarah couldn't see the singers. She suddenly realized what was happening, and ran to the King's side. She held his hand while the fairies lit an unearthly, blue fire, and refused to let go until they laid him on the pyre. She watched as his flawless body was engulfed by the flames and wept for the things gone by: youth, beauty, innocence, and a love so peculiar that it was almost lost on her. And when his corpse was almost entirely consumed, she heard the deep, mournful sound of a bell, clamoring once, twice, thirteen times. On the last ring of the bell, the Goblin King's body was gone, and nothing remained except the distant flutter of something white high above her, like soft, white feathers falling down, and a whisper that seemed to come from beyond the grave.

"Goodbye, precious thing."

Sarah woke up in her bed that morning, feeling strangely wistful. Then she went to her window.

It was snowing.


End file.
